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Outside, there was an open area of asphalt on which a collection of rather battered vehicles were parked, the rears of the other buildings facing on other streets forming a gritty, dirty courtyard. The two vampires who had gone by her were in a tight clutch over on the left, huddling in the shadows around the smoking instrument which they passed back and forth.
Nate was heading in their direction, and when she called out his name again, he spun around and jabbed a finger at her.
“No. I’m not doing this.”
She rushed over, and tried to catch his hand. “Nate, listen to me—”
“Oh, I listened plenty.” He held his arms out of her reach. “I got your voicemail. Real poignant shit, thanks for the sign-off. So what the hell are you doing back here.”
“May we go somewhere to talk—”
“You’ve said plenty. We’re done—”
Shuli came up to them. “Look, I’m just worried about you—”
“I am not your problem!”
As a fetid scent came over on the breeze, Rahvyn glanced back toward the other vampires, and thought perhaps it was whatever they were imbibing in.
No, that wasn’t it.
“Shh,” she hissed as Nate and Shuli got louder in their argumentation. “What is that smell.”
It was like a dead animal… and a certain… sweetness.
“That’s a lesser!” she exclaimed.
“Nah, the war is dead,” Nate said in a bored tone. “I got to hear alllll about the triumph.”
At that moment, something came around the corner of the club. Bent over, shuffling, oozing a black, glistening substance, the undead stopped beside the pair of vampires who were passing that pipe back and forth. Its hair was dark, its clothing stained, its condition such that one wondered how it remained upon its feet—
As Shuli cried out a name, the deadly attack was so fast, neither of the males had time to react.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Standing outside the Gucci boutique in Saks, Devina wondered whether she’d conjured an image of Lash out of thin air, her unassuaged angst creating its own kind of Band-Aid on things she couldn’t control or change by making him the fuck up. Except then she scented him and watched as his eyes narrowed like he was as surprised as she that they’d run into each other.
And come on, if she were pulling this shit out of her ass, her created-Lash would have prostrated himself on the polished marble floor, gone into a seizure of forgive-me-for-being-a-douchebag, and kissed her feet.
As opposed to stand there all annoyed like she was some stranger killing his vibe.
“What the hell are you doing here.” In response to his rude demand, she tossed his question back at him. As if this Saks Fifth Avenue was her own private backyard and he was the one crashing the party.
Her lover’s autocratic brows arched. “I’m getting a suit.”
With a spear of pain, she thought of him showing up to her lair with those red roses. It had been mere nights past, but felt like a lifetime ago. “You already have one.”
“You ripped it off me, remember.”
“That was you—”
“Maybe I did the shirt. But tearing the pants was all you.”
Memories of them naked and straining, sweaty and desperate, made her blink quick as she wondered who he was dressing up for. And fucking hell, but he looked good. His blond hair had been tousled by the wind, the waves thick and pale over his high forehead. Likewise, his cheeks were flushed as if he’d been outdoors, and she wanted to know what he had been doing for the last twenty-four hours with an aggression as if the information, like him, was her property.
“Why are you here,” he said.
“Excuse me? This is my store.”
“I was unaware your last name was Avenue.”
She pointed over his shoulder, toward the exit. “You can go get what you need at Macy’s. Matter of fact, you can get the fuck out of Caldwell.”
“So can you.”
Devina leaned forward. “The reason you’re back on this planet is because I summoned you with that spell.”
His eyes dipped down to her cleavage for a split second. Then he looked at her breasts again—and everything about the involuntary movement was a weakness on his part.
Well, what do you know. The antidote to her anger was him wanting her, even if he didn’t like it. Especially if he didn’t like it.
“Why do you need a suit,” she said in a calmer tone.
“I have a meeting.”
“Job interview? As a fuck boy?”
As he cocked that arrogant eyebrow of his, she wasn’t about to tell him that if he said “date,” there would be a whole lot of ruined retail space around them both. And what a loss of some good Italian leatherwork, the chain barrier notwithstanding.
“What kind of meeting,” she pressed.
“Have a good night,” he drawled as he started walking for the escalator.
“You still want to fuck me,” she ground out.
She assumed he would just ignore her, but he stopped. Put his hands on his hips. Stared off toward the Prada kiosk like if he could have changed one thing about himself, it would have been the fact that, yes, he wanted to bang her until they were both dripping.
